


The way that you're wired

by Builder



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Avocados at Law, Fever, Flu, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Friendship, Gen, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Matt Murdock & Foggy Nelson Friendship, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 18:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: After Foggy finds out Matt's secret, there's a real possibility Matt doesn't need him anymore.Little does he know Matt's always going to need him, even if it's only to pick up supplies when he can't get out of bed.Little does Matt know he's happy to oblige.





	The way that you're wired

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt from Tumblr. Find me @builder051

When Matt rolls over in bed only to feel his stomach jump into his throat, his first priority is getting to the bathroom before he makes a mess he won’t want to deal with later.  He throws back the covers and trips across the room.  He clips his hip on the door frame and collapses in a heap on the rug in front of the toilet.  Matt crosses his arms over the porcelain bowl and waits out the bout of illness, his bare chest heaving as he vomits in waves.

He sputters and reaches for the toilet paper roll, but misses by several inches.  Matt’s fingertips rake down the wall, and he sighs.  He gives up and wipes his mouth with his wrist.  The throbbing settling in behind his forehead makes the room feel about two miles too small.  In a way it would be easier if it was the bathroom’s back wall pushing against his spine.  Then standing up and going back to bed might do some good.  But he can feel the gunk settling in his lungs and rattling when he breathes, threatening to drown him in his sleep.

After a couple fruitless coughs, Matt decides to risk it.  The bathroom’s cold and he’s spiking a fever.  He shuffles back to the bedroom and collapses face-first onto his mattress.  It only takes a second for Matt to realize he can’t breathe like this, so he curls onto his side and drags the covers up to his chin.  He rubs his eyes until they water, then forces his aching body to relax.

Matt guestimates he’s been asleep for about five minutes when his alarm goes off.  “Goddammit,” he mutters thickly.  He extends his arm out of the cocoon of blankets and slaps the top of his clock to silence it.  Goosebumps erupt over his arm, and somehow the reach makes the bed tip.  Matt’s head swims, and hot nausea feeds up from his stomach.  He swallows hard, tasting sour dregs from last time.

He’s never moving again, Matt decides.  It seems like the only logical solution to his fevered brain.  He needs to call Foggy and tell him he’s not coming to work, but that involves reaching over to the bedside table again to find his phone.  Matt sighs and bites the bullet.  

He gags dryly into his pillow and waits for the vertigo to drop to a manageable level before he swipes through is contacts and places the call.  It takes two tries to find the right button.  Matt’s trembling more than he wants to admit.

“You do know business hours are between eight and four,” Foggy’s sleepy voice answers.  “And it’s currently five minutes past the hour of six in the morning.  I’m not functional this early.”

“I just…”  A bubble of mucous bursts in Matt’s throat, and he spends a frantic moment trying not to throw up all over his bed.  “I’m sick.”

“Yeah, you don’t sound that good,” Foggy says.  “Is it like, you stayed out too late kicking ass kind of sick?  Or bad takeout kind of sick?”

“No,” Matt murmurs.  “Like, the flu?  I don’t know.”  He presses the heel of his hand between his eyes, hoping to hold off the throb long enough to concentrate on what he’s saying.

“Oh,” Foggy says.  “Yikes.  Yeah, take day off.”  His voice hitches as he clamps the phone between his shoulder and ear.  Fabric swishes over skin, then Matt hears the unmistakable sound of a zipper.  “I know you’ve probably got it under control, but you need anything?  I can hit up CVS, or, you know…”  Foggy trails off with the verbal equivalent of a shrug.  “You probably still see better than me, even all stuffed up.” The chuckle doesn’t completely cover the note of hostility.

“Eh…”  Matt’s hip throbs from where he bashed it earlier.  “Not exactly.”

“Well, I’ll let you go.  You probably need your rest.”

“Wait, Fog,” Matt says, trying not to let the movement of his jaw aggravate his nausea.  “Could you, like—”  He pauses for a rapid swallow. “—Some ginger ale, or something?  Sorry.  I just, I really don’t feel good.”  Admitting it only makes the churning in his stomach worse, but it lifts a weight from his shoulders all the same.

“Really?”  Foggy quickly changes his tune.  “Yeah, of course.  Give me, like, half an hour.  Do you want Gatorade, too?”

“I, uh, whatever you think.”  Matt’s happy to pass of the responsibility.  Especially since Foggy seems enthusiastic to have it.  “Thanks.”

“Sure thing, buddy.”  Matt’s positive he can hear him grinning.


End file.
